Heat swallowed her whole.
Molten veins. Boiling bones.
A scream trapped inside cracked ribs.
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Her throat was dry, and she needed to stop; she wanted out.
And then, gasping for a slither, a fragment of air—
She bolted upright.
Cold. Instant. Wrong.
Her lungs seized, her nails digging into the sheets. Familiar sheets.
Warm. Sweet-smelling.
Her chest squeezed. No.
No!
This place burned.
She watched it burn.
It was her home, just like she remembered it.
"Did you have to wake the whole castle?" said a voice.
Lorelai's heart pounded as she twisted to see the speaker. The regal man stretched a little, his snoozing muscles eager to remain lethargic. No, this isn't real. I know this isn't real. She knew it. All her logic told her, but—
"And here I thought I could get some shut-eye." Edric continued.
"Father?" she whispered, her hands moving before she could stop them. "But I thought—"
"Aw, so the girl does speak," he said, "It's only been a week since you last spoke; I thought you would never forgive me." He patted her, a befuddled expression lingering on her face. "Don't tell me you forgot?"
She wanted to say this wasn't real. That it was a trick, but... it was her father. And she was just a girl. And he was still here, and everything smelled like home, and—
"No, I'm not a child anymore," she muttered. "I know this is fake. But why does it feel so real?"
The walls flickered—Whole. Pristine.
She blinked.
A flash of glass. Copper pipes. Fire.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Opened them.
And the warm, safe glow of her bedroom welcomed her back.
She gritted her fangs. "No..."
Father was going to war. That's all. She was mad at him.
Because it was her birthday.
Because he was leaving.
That was the memory. That was the truth.
…Right?
Her stomach twisted.
A whisper in the back of her mind—
"You're forgetting something."
Lore cleared her throat and pushed his arm away—except her hands appeared smaller, paler. She felt oddly strange as the air seemed to swirl around her. Her tail curled—lighter. Thinner. The weight of her bones faded, and her sight filled with dust like miniature chrome flakes.
A feeling nagged at her, a burn in her core, a drill dragging up her spine. But just for a moment—
"What was wrong with dreaming?" she said. "I could do whatever I wanted. I was a princess; hell knows, I did not want to feel like a crusty old woman. No, never."
She scrunched her springy toes, feeling them becoming them and remembering that time.
Lorelai Violette frowned, wishing to curl up and ignore her old man; she slid out from beneath her sheets. The man was preoccupied, fretting like a hovering king micromanaging his princess. He probably wouldn't let her return to sleep, would he? She flicked her tail and leapt off the feathery mattress.
"Don't you have your own bed to sleep in?" she said, "Or do you have to snore next to mine?"
He grinned, his stubble and fangs stupid and smelly. "I was only here because you're late. But I saw how snuggled up you were and felt like having a nap too."
Lorelai huffed, chucking a pillow at her old man. "I wasn't snuggling anything!"
Hell, did he have to watch her sleep now? What if she wanted to do something else in the sheets? She grimmest at the thought. She'd better install a lock later.
Then, like a battering ram to such an idea, a maid charged in, almost breaking the door hinges. Her six legs wrapped the frame, and her two standard feet floated as the Durg woman moved like a spider. Honestly, Lorelai found it a bit creepy. The fuzz of hair laced extra legs, the Exoskeleton limbs like that of an armoured finger, all moving simultaneously.
The Maid floated or crawled, depending on how you perceived it—and stopped at the hilt of her bed.
"Why isn't she ready? It's her coming-of-age ceremony." Said the arachnid woman, "We sent you here an hour ago; why isn't she dressed yet."
She said all of that while folding her arms in a pout. Her six spider legs expertly folded and ironed her sheets, like an organic machine.
Lorelai squirmed as her succubus thoughts leaked in. The question of what that level of multitasking could do in the bedroom seared her mind, her tail curling as she attempted to scrub it away.
And getting ready, she splashed her face from the nearby sink, the cold water dribbling the demon bark—her new and upcoming dirty mind—a wonderful gift from her genetics.
Then, like the snarky crimson wolf he was, her father not so discreetly went to whisper to the maid.
"Princess needs her beauty sleep. Full of hormones, that one." He basically announced to all in earshot.
She fumed, horns twitching, and snatched a heavier perfume bottle before chucking it. But before it could even land, miss or spray the wall. It stopped mid-air, the crystalline structure froze, the sole finger and smile on her father's lips telling her all she needed to know.
"I hope you don't use your powers like you do your belongings."
Lorelai spun, half feeling the maid's awkward stare. Good luck telling the king what he can and can't do. But Lorelai only simmered and pulled open a dresser, scanning through the rows of dresses.
"If you want to give me a birthday present, you can teach me already," she said offhandedly.
She knew he refused to teach her despite all the rest of the demoness's learning it when they could barely walk. Some girls, literally flew in circles around her, like a living wack, a-moles she couldn't reach.
Annoyed or wanting to find something else to chuck or burn, she tossed a handful of fluffy, light garbage to the planks, her fingers digging through her collection for something that wasn't so tasteless. She should really go buy something herself, instead of letting her maids do it.
"Boring, childish. What, who am I, a clown?" She said, essentially emptying her entire closet in one go. "You can't expect me to go out in this drab right?"
Then, in a snap, a chest opened to her side, the dusty old thing being more of a bench than storage at one point. But what popped out glued her eyes in an instant.
A masterpiece of demonic craftsmanship—an elaborate gown woven with Durg silk, shimmering with an eerie, almost liquid Rokgar sheen that shifted between deep purples and blues, mimicking the dark twinkling void of the underworld. An abyss that sucked all in.
Lorelai battered her lashes, and heck, even the maid stared intently. The bodice was form-fitting, adorned with intricate embroidery of crimson and silver thread, tracing eldritch runes that pulsed faintly with Gravium. The neckline dipped elegantly, structured just enough to hint at her skin without surrendering to excess. At the shoulders, two delicate yet wickedly pointed straps of blackened metal curved down the back.
From the waist down, the gown flared into cascading layers of sheer black and deep violet fabric, resembling the swirling shadows of the city of hell. Each layer was edged with flickering infernal red as if embers had been sewn into the seams, glowing and fading with each movement.
This was no ordinary dress. It was a statement. A declaration that she was no ordinary demon. She was royalty. She was Lorelai Violette.
"What the hell is this?" Lorelai blurted. Hell and the pits, it was beautiful. It was also exactly what she didn't want to be. "this must have cost— "
"You should be concerned about more than just powers, princess", said Edric. "Some nobles are questioning if you even want to get married; you turned down so many--"
She snapped her attention, the implication clear as night. "out with you, unless you happen to be one of those nobles that like to see their daughter strip."
Edric sighed, "My little girl is all grown up; next thing I know, you'll be having your own children—"
She fumed at him, "I will not," she snapped.
Her voice caused a sharp knock. The jolt sent fire licking up her spine. For just a second, the walls flickered. Pipes. Copper. A screaming siren. The air burned—too hot, too real. She gasped—
No. Lore shook her head. The warmth of home settled around her, soft and safe. Her father was smiling. The walls were whole. Everything was fine. Her tail squeezed like her eyes; everything… was… fine…
And like a thick blanket, the pristine walls snapped back into place, the fog clearing into a warm smile. Her father's smile.
But Edric's expression faltered momentarily, just for a second.
Too quick, almost rehearsed
His face practically forced as he wore a cheery grin.
But by the time she blinked, it was gone—replaced with that same warmth she sunk into.
It must be her imagination.
She was at home, here, in a place where she belonged.
She was Princess Violette.
Nobody else.
Her father peered to the glass, a sly line forming his lips, "Your boyfriend's at the window." He pointed out. "Don't stay out too late. And try not to 'accidentally' lose the dress in the heat of passion."
Lorelai felt her tail curl, "You— I— " she stuttered.
Then, before she could go red, the King slipped out, the linger of a giggle following him in the hallway.
Her tail whipped like mad, her fangs steaming. "He knows too much." She hissed.
But getting to business, part of her ecstatic to show it off, Lorelai turned to the maid. The woman drooling over the dress reached her hand out, her ultermotive clear.
"You can leave," Lorelai said. "I can dress myself, thank you."
"But—"
"You heard me. Get. Before I ask you, run the all-naked down the hall."
The Maid stiffened, a flash of memory from that last order burning her cheeks. The woman quickly bowed like a piston and hurried out. No, she sprinted before Lorelai changed her mind. It was almost like her six giant legs had caught fire, the demon fleeing with sudden urgency.
Lorelai sighed, "Now then." She looked to the window and could feel the gaze. "I swear, how long had he been watching."
She sighed, smoothing out the dress.
Familiar. Magical. Comforting.
But the weight of it—
Too heavy.
Too hot.
Something burned.
Not fabric. Not flesh.
Something deeper.
She swallowed hard.
And from the window—someone watched. The whispers of the wet lips. Her breath. Like she had forgotten something…
Something.
Important.